


It Helps

by Aithilin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Clothing, Fluff, M/M, Nightmares, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 20:18:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12465140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: They had each found a way to handle the nightmares.





	It Helps

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the [Fluffpocalypse](https://nyxnoctocalypse.tumblr.com/post/165381753552/fluffpocalypse-october-2017-prepare-to-die) over at [Tumblr](http://aithilin.tumblr.com/)

The nightmares were a part of life at this point. There was no escaping the fact that the worst of them— the dreams of fire and daemons and generals clad in dark, bloodstained armour— were going to be there to stay. There was no denying the fact that once in a while, Noctis was going to wake up in a panic, sweating from the heat of remembered fire, panting through the panic brought on by the loss of his entire force of caretakers in one night— the loss of guardians and tutors who had been like parents while his father was too busy. Even if most of his life was spent safe behind the Wall, there was no denying the trauma’s in the prince’s life. 

“It helps me, at least,” Noct said, shrugging Nyx’s uniform coat over his shoulders as he sat on the bed in the small apartment. 

“So that’s where the spare got to,” Nyx pulled the prince closer, willed his own heart to settle. “My little thief.”

Nyx had plenty of nightmares. 

There were the ones of the front lines— still fresh with each successful return to the safety of the city and its barriers. Dreams and terrors of the dusts that enveloped the daemons tamed by the Empire and unleashed across the Cavaugh gorge each night. Where growls deeper, more menacing than any of the controlled beasts, reverberated through the stone, through their bones and flesh and primal instinct demanded that he run. In some dreams, he does, watching from safety as his friends and comrades are torn to pieces in the night; where his family is lost to the darkness. In others he’s caught in those jaws himself, feeling muscle and bone tear apart beneath his blade, beneath the jaws and claws of the creatures living outside of the wall. 

Most mornings home, in safety, he woke to Noct’s hand soothing him. To the prince’s voice talking him through the disorienting process of waking up. To familiar, careful hands moving through his hair and the heavy coat draped over both of them. 

“It helps,” was all Noct could explain. 

Nyx understood the idea. 

He had watched as Noct woke in a panic, doubled over, stiff, scared of even the shadows of the room. At first, Noct wouldn’t calm until all of the lights were on— until the dark of the night was forcibly pushed away, despite the glare of neon and street light outside of the apartment, despite the laughter and music and noise of a city that had very much earned its name. There were nights where Nyx would hold Noct through the shock of the real world breaking through his nightmares and just whisper softness at him until the whimpers and pleas stopped, until he could smile and tease kisses out of the prince and tell him to ignore the clock, it was time for coffee. 

He had watched as Noct was soothed almost instantly by the heavy coat— the protective charms worked into the fabric easing his mind just as much as promising protections. Nyx had smiled as his lover blinked up at him with bleary eyes and a smile before burrowing further beneath the coat to go back to sleep. 

It was the magic in the coat, Nyx explained to himself. The heavy material, the familiar power designed to protect the wearer. Designed to dispel the effects of daemons.

And then there were the nights spent at the larger apartment in the heart of the city— within a clearer view of the Citadel and its majesty. Nights where Nyx laughed and gently stripped Noct of his clothing with small critiques about the trendiness— teasing over the Lucian fashion that was still lost on him. Nights after hours spent at the training yards with the Glaives, watching his prince fight and spar and take to the magic that flooded his veins with the same power they borrowed. Nights after dusting the dryness off the dark fatigues tossed aside for the wash. 

Nights where he could watch the city gleam in the darkness like a star or a jewel or whatever other romantic notion more eloquent people compared it to, from so high above the rest of it. 

“It helps,” Noct said when Nyx woke up in a panic in the prince’s apartment. When he woke with Noct pinned beneath him, wrists bruising from the too-tight grip. Where he knew he would try to laugh it off later, and be glad that Ignis hadn’t heard him— hadn’t roused him from the nightmare with a knife to his throat for letting himself sleep in the sleep-deluded panic to attack the prince. To harm Noct. 

Where he had learnt, after that first mistake, to control himself even in the dead of night. 

Where he had spent the day after kissing away bruises and avoiding the concern from Noct and his friends. 

Now, he woke alert— trained and forced himself to not get comfortable in the too-big bed. To treat it like the barracks and the tents out on the front lines, to keep himself ready. No matter how soft it was, or how warm, or how sweet it was to have Noct against him, around him. 

When he had a nightmare in that apartment now, he could step out to the living room and watch the glitter of the city and the Wall and wait for the apartment to feel alive again. Like his walks out in the encampment on the front lines in the dead of night, beneath the harsh glares and overzealous patrols. At least no one stopped him to ask questions when he was just pulling on one of Noct’s over-sized, ridiculously soft sweaters to ward off the night air on the balcony. 

It was the first thing he could reach in his rush to make himself decent enough to settle out on the couch or the balcony chairs with a blanket. The over-sized sweater with the Crownsguard insignia Noct kept around for the apartment— where it was too broad on the shoulders and too long in the sleeves. But when he wore it, Nyx felt warm. It reminded him of Noct, of the peace of this place. Of the life of the city he could watch beneath the arch of the shining barrier. Of the safety he could hold close and revel in until the nightmares faded. 

Some mornings like this, Ignis was the first one up. Nyx wouldn’t notice until there was a fresh coffee pressed into his hands and they’d talk until Noct was up and about and fussing over his stolen clothes. Other mornings, Noct would settle against him with a sleepy smile and watch the sunrise with him. 

“It helps,” Nyx agreed, an arm around Noct to pull the throw blanket over them both, as Noct lazily traced the insignia on the stolen sweater.


End file.
